


Unturned Stones

by Blairjay



Series: Zephia Literary Universe [1]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Zephia
Genre: Attempted Murder, Blood and Gore, Canon LGBTQ Character, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Conlangs, Culture, Culture Shock, Dark, Death, Fantasy, Gen, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Implied/Referenced Child Neglect, Kidnapping, Magic, Slavery, Worldbuilding, attempted child murder
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-15
Updated: 2019-05-21
Packaged: 2020-03-06 02:50:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18842110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blairjay/pseuds/Blairjay
Summary: A collection of stories untold in the Zephia Squad Podcast.(Doesn't require much knowledge about Zephia beforehand and can be taken as original content in an original context.)





	1. End of an Eon

**Author's Note:**

> I know what you're all probably thinking (if you're a long-time reader at least): "Blair. Why are you starting another work that probably will never be finished so long as you walk this Earth?"
> 
> And I agree completely. I shouldn't be doing this, really, but rocks have been rattling around in my head and I can't stop. Won't stop. Never fear, my other stories will probably be updated within the next decade but considering I write at the approximate pace of a snail, don't count on it.
> 
> This first story will be about Aren Fallswallow, a queen of Emia, and like the badass she is, she's taking out the trash.

_This should be easier,_ Aren thinks, looking over the gladiators. _I've grown up around this._

The Berserker stands stock still in the cool evening, his body illuminated by firelight. The Unlucky stands across from him, quivering in her boots. They're waiting on her now, they all are.

Thousands of people in the Coliseum, all baying for blood. Aren claps once, and the fight begins.

Immediately, the Unlucky is overwhelmed. Aren is sitting at the bottom of the Coliseum, near the battle itself. But in her eyes, it's less of a battle and more of a bloodbath.

She's taken back to the Ball in her mind's eye. Blood spills across the sand, marking it forever. At least until the cleanup crew hides it.

Aren imagines Kai or Elin or Rafaele in the Unlucky's place, slain for a crime as simple as theft.

Oh, gods. _Raf._

She has to do something.

Rage bubbles up inside her chest.

Aren finds herself standing before she can even think about it. She yanks a sword from one of her own guards, makes a calculated risk, and jumps.

She seems to fly for a moment before she lands, jarring her bones and body. She's stunned for a moment, that she isn't harmed, right in front of the Unlucky.

The Berserker doesn't stop and doesn't let up. A scream goes up when his sword catches her across the face, sending her spinning away to the ground. Aren's stunned again, watching the blood - her blood - drip down her face and onto the sand below. Her stolen sword is somewhere nearby, glinting in the corner of her eye.

Her fury overflows.

Aren stands and whirls around, skirts flaring. The Berserker has already executed - no, _murdered_ \- a poor, young girl who did little more than shoplift.

She faces the Berserker, who is faceless and nameless to her now. Aren's face twists into a snarl and she lunges out, her hands twisting in the air. Her Lōksai - her Spark - surges out to meet her wishes.

It tears through the air, slamming into the Berserker. It sends him sprawling into the wall, slamming into it. She hears his bones snap and crack and feels vindicated.

But the Unlucky is dead. Aren's too late to save her, but there are others in the arena around her, beneath her feet. Their ancestors' and comrades' and family's and lover's and enemies' blood soak the sand beneath her feet.

Aren lifts her head heavenward, turning to meet the crowd.

" _Hear me!_ " she calls out, letting her Spark pitch her voice forward, carrying it off into the distance. "Hear me, Emia! There will be no more fighting here! This Arena will be destroyed and in its place shall be a monument to those who were murdered here!" She takes a deep inhale. "Slavery in Emia will now be _abolished_ , as I decree it! May you, citizens, be my witnesses!"

The crowd's silence becomes heavy and unsettling. Her face is still bleeding, now sluggishly.

Someone claps, then another, and another and another until it becomes a landslide of noise, pouring in around Aren from all sides. There is booing as well, those who dislike her new law.

She turns around on the sand. There are a few Healers now, scurrying to collect the bodies and tend to her.

An older elf approaches her, giving her a once over. She tries to give him a smile, but it falls flat, into the bloodied sand below their feet.

"May I, your Majesty?" He asks, his eyes kind and voice soft. She lets him grab her face in his dark hands.

"Let it scar," she tells him, voice cracking and creaky from the abuse. "It will help me more than ail me."

"Very well," he replies, his golden Spark skittering across her face and sinking into her face. "There."

"Thank you...?"

"Lucien, your Majesty. I am Lucien."

"Thank you, Lucien. There is more for me to do. Please, spread the word to the rest of the people," she tells him kindly. "If you have any resources, please use them."

Aren walks mechanically back to her box, dipping her head at the guards. Her Captain is there, standing at the ready.

"Tellon," she begins. "Bring me Ryan Kolo and his subordinates."

* * *

 

As it turns out, there are eight total, including Kolo.

She puts the first seven to the sword, executing them herself. It happens in the middle of the Arena, right where thousands were slaughtered in their names.

Aren keeps Kolo for last, for her friends, for herself, for those indirectly and directly murdered by him.

Her hair cut fashionably short and her cloak wrapped tight around her shoulders, she stalks down to the dungeons below the Arena. Tellon is at her right, a half-orc Arenite named Adair at her left. He volunteered

Kolo's blue hair is dark and matted, blood crusted on the side of his face from a wound. He grins at her and she sees that he's missing a tooth. Around his wrists and ankles are Spark dampeners, keeping him chained away from the door.

Aren keeps her face carefully impassive as she picks up a torch. She tilts her head towards her two guards.

"Leave us," she intones. Adair leaves quickly, a frown on his lips. Tellon dallies only a few moments after him, before backing off. She turns back to Kolo.

"You're not as naive as I thought you'd be," Kolo begins, his smarmy smirk on his face. Aren has to squash down the urge to curl her lip up in disgust.

"No," she replies, cutting through his speech before it even starts, "I am not. And you will call me by the title proper to my station." Aren inhales deeply, wanting to run him through here and now, but refrains. "You will answer to the crimes you have committed during the reigns of my mother and grandmother."

He is quiet, his chains clinking together as he stands and steps as close as he is allowed. "And what is my sentence, dear Queen?"

Aren gives him a predatory smile, wolf-sharp. "Death," she snaps out, placing the torch in its sconce, ghosting her fingers over the metal. "You're accused of high treason. I'm sure you know exactly what that entails, dearest Arenamaster."

"So," Kolo says mockingly, grin firmly in place, "Will you be the executioner or will you have your many pets do it for you? Perhaps you'll turn me over to the slaves?"

Aren can't help but laugh - a short, sardonic bark - as she whirls back around to face him. "No," she purrs out, striding closer to the cell, "No, none of that will happen. As it were, I plan for it to be very public, right on these very grounds," she gives him a sliver of a grin. "Since your sentencing is a drawing and quartering, I have very specific ideas of who will be doing what."

Aren fiddles with her dagger under her cloak, smiling at him. It's tempting to stab him here and now. But she can't. Not yet, at least. She must have patience.

"Have a good evening, my lord," she murmured. "I hope you, perhaps, reconsider your life while you're here. You certainly won't see the light of day in this life. Hopefully not in the next either."

All that said and done, the Queen of Emia pivots and sweeps out of the room.


	2. Chasm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grae's last thoughts before her first death. Pre-Podcast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tayek (plural: Tayeh) are basically modified/homebrew tieflings!

_This is it,_ Grae thinks, _this is how I die._

Her cell is dark and dank, wet and muddy. There is a stain somewhere on the far wall. Blood, probably. Grae has seen enough of it to make a good guess.

She's surprisingly uninjured and well-treated, aside from a few bruises and her tusk getting knocked out. They're torturing someone nearby, though, from the screams and other sounds.

Grae looks up as the cell door creaks open. She has a shiv, made from her lost tusk. One of them, a cult member of some kind, has entered the cell, with what appears to be manacles.

Grae stiffens and unfurls, striking like a snake. She sinks the tusk into his hand, making him cry out in pain and surprise.

He throws her back with an excess amount of Spark, slamming her head into the wall. Her vision swims.

He snarls something in a language she doesn't know, then backhands her before clapping the manacles on her. Dizzily, she's forced to stand and stumble out of the cell behind him. Three others are waiting outside.

They escort her through long, winding halls before coming to an opulent and well-furnished corridor. One of them tugs on her chain, leading her up a flight of spiral stairs. She's given a moment to recover from her impromptu concussion.

The people on the roof chew out the first man, giving him a few scathing words. The four escorts leave Grae on the roof at the tender mercies of the new ones.

She eyes them warily, the Tayek especially. She's given a predatory grin in response.

Grae feels lightheaded suddenly, bracing herself against what looks like a table. Someone is touching her back gently, murmuring a few words in her ear as if to calm her.

She just feels nauseated.

She's sat down near the altar, with her arms and legs bound with rope. There's someone else next to her, but she feels dizzy. Grae snarls at someone that tries to touch her, so they move on.

The warmth at her side is removed. Footsteps pad away and she hears struggling feet and a soft thud.

Someone speaks and Grae finds herself holding on to every word.

"Tru, oen bu nihene! Heen oel yaku kozeen matel ormeene, yon mat heen ichen mu bu Nɯshenroke. Mɯken kup, Lop Tru!"

The words are surprisingly melodious and Grae feels herself getting drowsy. She twists her wrist inside of her bonds, forcing herself to wake.

She hears a gurgle and a thump. Something wet drips onto the stone. She's so tired.

She's forced to her feet and next to the altar. Her limbs feel like lead.

The cultist repeats the words in her ear, crying them out for all the world to hear. A knife is pressed against her throat.

Movement catches her eye.

The door to the stairwell has opened.

Instantly, Grae's mouth goes dry. Why is Kai here? They should be far, far away, far enough that they shouldn't be hurt. She watches their kind, beautiful, wonderful face twist into horror and shock, and then into rage.

The knife drags across her throat.


	3. From the Mouths of Babes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trident keeps picking up strays. Pre-Canon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this, Elin is around two, and the halfling twins are just about 6. Liricean is, obviously, Halfling. Elfique is Elvish. Trident's mikeh-bulk is a traditional Tayehi article of clothing.

Trident grins, bouncing on the balls of his feet. There is a circus in town and it's high time for a good bit of pickpocketing.

He slips through the crowd like a minnow through water, smirk wide across his face. He passes a few begging urchins - young enough to be unable to steal properly. The Tayek pauses, hovering over them for a brief moment. They stare up at him with wide, beseeching eyes.

"Soreidh," one whispers in Liricean, a language Trident doesn't know much of. "Deibh'ua di fhoid!"

Trident shrugs in a kind of helpless way then reconsiders. He ends up handing them a few coppers. It would be able to get them by for a few days at most. The grins on their faces are wide and earnest. One grabs at his _mikeh-bulk_ , tugging at it, babbling off in rapid-fire broken Common.

He chuckles and peels their fingers off of his clothes, patting their heads. "Now, kids, patience," he tells them. He sees how bony they are and takes pity on them. "Do you have any family? Parents?" The two give him a blank look. He frowns, trying to remember what little words he does know. "Lodeil? Thobh?"

The two shake their heads in unison. It's honestly a little creepy.

Trident sighs. "Alright. Why don't you come with me?" He offers kindly. The younger one tilts their head and frowns. "Come with me?" He repeats, gesturing to himself. "I'm Trident."

The older one's eyes glitter. "Soren," they proclaim proudly, gesturing to themself. "Kera," gesturing to their sibling. Soren points at themself. "Boy."

Kera waves their hand, smiling as they say, "Girl."

The two stand up in front of him and he realizes how tall he is compared to them. He's easily three feet taller than Soren, with quite a lot more room to grow - he's only twelve, after all.

He leads them through the crowd, showing them how to pickpocket and making sure they can see him from the little alcove they find.

High overhead, four ravens caw and crow, swooping down to catch crumbs and whole pieces of food.

When Trident is done pickpocketing, he has easily a small fortune in jewelry.

"We're going home now," he tells the twins. "Mhiopa." Kera and Soren exchange grins with each other, before scampering after him.

Trident led them through the alleys and side streets, selling the jewelry to different buyers as he went. Behind him, the twins chatter in a mixture of Liricean and Common, baffling him with half the words. He eventually claims a total of ten gold pieces, hidden safely within the folds of his clothes.

Eventually, they come to an abandoned house in the North district, along the outer wall. He crawls in a back window, leading them up to the attic.

Trident shows them the room, which is strewn with cloth from the markets. There's a few odds and ends, like strange furniture found while diving for trash. He scuttled over to his lockbox, placing the gold within it. He'd take the twins out to buy a mattress later.

A few hours later, he finally gets the two to settle in on his bed. They fall asleep with surprising ease, curled up together on the sheets. He smiles and resists the urge to coo over them, but refrains. He's still got to go to the circus to scam some people out of their money.

Trident is about to sneak out when he hears noises downstairs. Kera jolts awake at the sound, bringing Soren with her, who opens his mouth to shout. Trident mimes shushing. Kera slams her hand over her twin's face to keep him silent.

He carefully steps over to the stairs, making sure to avoid the creakiest planks. Then, he stoops low to listen in.

They're talking in Common, but it seems like nonsense to him. Assassinations? The Queen? Elves? Trident frowns.

A baby starts crying. Trident's heart seizes in his chest. He glances back at Kera and Soren, who have huge eyes. He makes a motion, mentally urging them to stay.

Trident creeps down the stairs. With his heightened night vision, it's easy to see. There are a man and a woman, both human. Both are wearing dark clothing, with hoods and masks.

The baby - no, toddler - is wrapped in a blanket on the floor. A rather fancy-looking one, if Trident has to guess.

"We can't just leave him here, Alva," the man snaps out. He is sitting down on one of the boxes, rubbing his leg. Injured, maybe?

The woman, Alva, is pacing. "We _can_ and we _will_ , Claus," she snarls. "We did our job and we botched it. All because you wanted to steal the smartest babe in the entire fucking world!"

"I did not-!"

"Yes, you did!" Alva says, her voice dropping into a growl. "If we were really merciful, we'd kill him and be done with it." She pulls out a dagger and begins moving towards the swaddled child.

Trident's breath hitches. Kill a baby? He couldn't stand for this. He wouldn't.

Trident's body uncoils from his hiding place and he hurls his own knife before he can think. It lands in the tendon behind Alva's left knee - if she's lucky, she'll be a cripple for the rest of her life. She falls, her dagger dropping to the ground in a clatter.

He darts out, grabbing the baby and holding him close to his chest. "Leave," he snarls, his voice lowered and gravelly from the adrenaline and anger. "Leave and never come back, or I will have no mercy on you or yours,"

The man jumps up and swallows. He looks between Trident, the baby, and his comrade.

He makes a wise decision. The man grabs the woman and hurries out the back door, the only door that wasn't boarded up.

Trident pushes an old table in front of the door, making sure it can't be opened again. When he returns to the living room, Soren and Kera are with the baby, looking over him gingerly.

The baby is quiet now, looking up at Trident with wide, golden eyes. He smiles down, rubbing the baby's cheek and gently removing the blanket. Underneath, he's wearing some loose-fitting clothing, looking fine in make and cut. He's also got pointed ears, which clashes with the freckles on his face.

"I thought elves didn't get freckles," he muses, rubbing his chin. "Well, what's your name, koloj? Mine is Trident,"

The baby gnaws on his own lip, before giving Trident a sunny grin. "Elin," he said proudly with a lisp. "Syl'ain."

"Elin Sylrain, hm?" Trident replies, almost melting from the cuteness. "Well, this is Kera and this is Soren," he tells the toddler. "We'll take care of you, okay?"

Elin frowns, before nodding. "Okay," he hesitates, before reiterating, "Okay, T'ident!"

Later, Trident would look at the baby blanket, which was embroidered with Elfique words he didn't understand. It was a beautiful thing, made out of red linen with blue trim. It all encircled another word. Years later, he would learn that word was _krwou_.

The Elfique word for king.


End file.
